In the deepest hollows of the Briar, where the cypress trees grew so old that their roots had become a labyrinth of their own, the longest night of the year settled across the swamp like a breath of fresh, cool air. Another year was ending, and a new one had come to take its place.
To those who didn't know the place, it was hard to know the coming of the seasons, and at times, it was just as hard to know the coming of day and night. On this, the longest night of the year, the thick fog that blanketed the Briar barely seemed to have lightened at mid-day, and when night fell, even the creatures who dwelled in the Briar's depths barely noticed a difference.
